


Beloved

by thesilentzed



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 00:12:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3228866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesilentzed/pseuds/thesilentzed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fantasy AU where Louis is happily living his normal unexciting life until tragedy hits close to home. He has no choice but to run with two complete strangers that just happen to be there to save his life. On the run they pick up a couple friends and the five of them journey across the kingdom in search of answers. Can't forget the family heirloom that's turning out to be a lot more trouble than it's worth, the deranged Priest intent on raising the dead and killing Louis, and the prophecy that hails Louis as the world's saviour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

_“On this day I banish you, my dear brother, and the souls you rule over to the Land of the Dead, bound there by the magic in my talisman with only one chance for escape. On the day my purest Descendent is born the dead will once more be able to walk amongst the living. If my beloved and my treasure are conquered, you will have won dear brother, and will rise to greatness again. It will not be easy though. I will send a protector with my Beloved Descendant – an individual pure of heart and steadfast in faith. And to any who attempt to restore my brother's so-called “glory”: be wary. Should His will be fulfilled, the living will be cursed, by his hand, to a slow and barren demise. Goodbye, dear brother.”_

_\- Rhea, Goddess of Light, from The Splitting of the Realms_

\- - -

“Please,” the woman sobbed, long red curls tumbling over her shoulder as she fell to her knees and clasped her hands before her. “I'm begging you. Spare me.” The men on either side of her followed her movements, maintaining their place at her shoulders. Velos curled his lip in disgust, dropping to one knee and taking the woman's chin in hand. He pinched the flesh and illuminated her face with his torch to better examine her.

“You beg for mercy as if your pitiful existence deserves any,” he drawled, eyes scanning her countenance with disdain. Even under the dim flicker of the torch Velos could see that she was filthy. Her cheeks were smudged with grime and the whites of her eyes were yellowing. She clearly came from nothing – was the spawn of no one.

Velos' grip on her foul chin tightened. How many families had she robbed in her life? How many families had she ruined with the temptation of her sloppy kisses and companionship? His mind flicked back to his own family and it seemed his memory of them was foggier than the day before, as it had been the day before that and the day before that and so on for the five long years he had been without them. 

“I will make myself into something, I promise,” she whispered desperately as her tears tracked through the grime on her cheeks and settled on the tips of Velos' fingers. Her breathing was quick and shallow and she maintained eye contact with her captor in spite of her vulnerable position. Or perhaps it was _because_ of her vulnerable position. Velos didn't very much care either way. He released her chin and offered the woman – the _whore_ – a soft smile. She had no idea that by falling into Velos' possession she had already made herself into something. This stupid woman that had been loved by no one and had only stolen goodness from the world was about to become a part of something so much greater than herself. She was about to atone for her entire dirty existence. 

Velos' hand dropped to his side, fingers gently tracing the leather binding there. “But my dear,” he told her quietly, still smiling, “I'm saving you the trouble. You _are_ about to become something.” His fingers slid down the leather and wrapped around the hilt of his dagger. In that moment the men on either side of her lowered to their knees, grabbing her arms. The woman's eyes widened, almost entirely whites as her pupils pinpointed with terror. She watched Velos draw the weapon. She wasn't quite so pleasant in that moment, screaming like a banshee and flopping like a fish out of water, slapping against her captors uselessly and throwing herself every which way in an effort to escape. Her terribly pitched shrieks kept pleading for help from someone - _anyone_.

“There's no one around to hear you,” Velos sighed, raising an eyebrow as he amended, “Well, not anyone that has any interest in helping you. Now calm down or you'll run the chance of me missing my mark.”

She chose not to heed his warning, struggling even more vehemently against her captors, and Velos realized this stupid whore was going to require both his hands. He didn't bother hiding his irritation as he dug his torch into the ground, the flame going out with a hiss against the damp dirt. The scene took on a decidedly more beautiful ambiance as their only light became the blue glow of the full moon.

Wrapping his hand through her matted curls and grabbing the back of her head, he slashed his dagger across her throat with the other. Her blood was warm as it splashed over his knees and hand. He was hardly even bothered by it, so used to the feel by this point. He had been partaking in this same ritual every day for two years now, travelling around the kingdom and setting up camp outside all the major cities.

Once she had stopped gurgling and was completely limp, Velos' men released the woman and she slumped to the dirt, her own blood soaking into her clothing and hair. Velos thanked the men then rolled his shoulders, pulling them back until he felt his back crack. 

“Lovely,” he groaned pleasurably before finally rising to his feet. 

His feet were bare and warmed with the woman's blood. His feet were grounded in the cool earth beneath him. His feet were buzzing with the familiar tingle of magic as he pulled it from the land and slowly coaxed it up and into his body. It hummed just under his skin and coursed through his veins like liquid fire. He directed the power to his hands, which he held out over the woman's body, palms down. Velos felt nothing but pride as his hands slowly began to emanate a deep purple light.

“Drauga, God of Dark, I beseech you, let me keep this soul and I promise I will use it for the sole purpose of helping to bring You to Your former greatness.” Velos' tone was deep and thunderous in the still of the night. It shook with the intent of his magic and drove his power into the woman's body. He felt it the moment his magic entered her and he groped around like a child in the night searching for a teddy. His magic fumbled through her being until it suddenly hit something that felt electric and completely foreign to Velos. The electricity fought him, pushing him away and Velos knew without ever having experienced this sensation before that he had found her soul. He surged his magic forward, overpowering the alien form and completely engulfing it. None of the books he had read had articulated what it felt like to seize a soul nor did they explain how to go about using one to revive a corpse but somehow Velos just seemed to _know_ instinctively what to do. He began to draw forth the soul with his magic, surprised at how strong it became at the threshold of the woman's body, putting up a fight like he had never before experienced. It was no matter though, for Velos _knew_ his God, Drauga, was with him, guiding him and empowering him through this momentous happening.

Velos' magic tugged at the soul with such strength that he swore he was able to _see_ it as the soul was violently ripped from the body. The two men watching shuddered as the soul's fight left it in a powerful pulse that rippled over them all, running over their bodies like ice water.

Just as he had known how to take the soul once he had found it, Velos also knew what to do now. He grinned and drew his magic into himself. The soul remained with the body. He couldn't see it but he felt it in the way he felt his arms and legs. It was simply a part of him. Without really thinking it, Velos thought of the woman standing and she did, her movements clumsy and her face completely slack. The men gasped, eyes suddenly alight with the fervour Velos was feeling at his success.

“Gentlemen,” Velos said, breaking out into a wolfish grin, “I believe we have a prophecy to fulfill.”

\- - -

The damp cloth settling on her forehead was a blessing and Johanna smiled appreciatively at her sister, thankful for the support. She didn't verbalize her thanks – she didn't really need to – and in any case, she was far too exhausted to say a single word. Out in the countryside, in her little farm house with fogged windows that were glowing gold in the midst of the dark night, she was living the dream she'd had for as long as she could remember. Her entire body felt slack with fatigue and as she held her new babe, swaddled in a blanket she had been knitting over the past few months, close to her chest she realized that she wouldn't want to speak even if she could. Her eyes fell back onto the tiny being and began to well with tears of joy. Nine months of waiting and now she held in her arms the most explosive and all consuming love she had ever experienced in her life. It was like she was holding the song she'd never known her heart had been singing. Her husband, Mark, slid into the bed beside her and put an arm over her shoulder, drawing her and their newborn son into his chest. She felt his heart as it pounded against her back and wondered if her little boy was feeling her heart beat in the same way.

“What are you going to name him?” her sister asked in a hush and Johanna looked up at Mark with the seed of a smile dashing her lips. He gave her a tiny nod and the smile bloomed.

“Louis,” Johanna breathed, her eyes once again dropping to her son. 

She didn't noticed the fear in Mark's eyes as he held his free hand to his chest – held his hand over the spot where the necklace his dying father had given to him sat, burning against his skin. She didn't notice the faint white light creeping through the cracks in Mark's fingers.

“My beloved little Louis,” she whispered and kissed the boy's forehead. By the time she looked back to Mark, the light had faded and he had made up his mind to never share with her what he knew in his heart to be true.

Their beloved little Louis was the fate of the world.

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this idea has been bouncing around my mind for awhile and after pages and pages of plotting and notes I'm finally ready to put it out there! Not your typical Larry AU but I hope you'll enjoy anyways!


	2. Birthday Blues

“Louis wake up!” 

Louis didn't see so much as feel it when a pillow came crashing down on his face, followed by the sound of little giggles being muffled by little hands. Rather than fight it, Louis wrapped his arms around the pillow, holding it against his face and hoping against all odds that his assailants would take the hint and let him continue to sleep.

“Loooouis,” one of them groaned, little hands taking hold of his own and shaking. Two little bodies began bouncing on top of his and Louis wished his mom had given him four old cats instead of four little sisters.

“Oh, let him sleep,” another voice piped up condescendingly from further off.

“Yes!” Louis agreed emphatically, voice muffled by the pillow, “Let him sleep!” 

“But it's your biiiirthday!” That was a whine if Louis had ever heard one and he had to wonder how anyone aside from him had any right whining in this moment. After all, he was the one being woken up far too early on his birthday.

“Yeah Louis! It's your birthday!”

Was there an echo in his room?

Louis pulled the pillow off his face, finally facing the light of the asscrack of dawn as well as his little sisters' expectant faces. He levelled them with his most irritated expression.

“My birthday wish is to sleep in for once in my life,” he informed them in a tone that left no room for arguments, not even flinching when their button noses crinkled up with disappointment. “Now move along and go do whatever it is you weirdos do this early in the morning.” Louis gently pushed them both off his bed, meeting the eldest of his little sisters' gaze and smiling faintly. Lottie shrugged her shoulders at the twins as they trudged towards her, shoulders slumped in defeat.

“I told you he wouldn't want to get up,” she told them, amused, then put her hands on their heads and guided them out of his room, pausing to lean back and say, “Happy birthday, Lou.”

Louis gave her a salute that was both a thank you for the birthday wishes and a thank you for wrangling the twins then fell back onto his bed. He focused on feeling as dense as he could in order to sink further into his pillows and mattress. It was practically tradition at this point for his sisters to care about his birthday more than he did. His mother told him it was because it was the one day a year they were allowed to dote on him as much as they wanted and he couldn't complain, though that was a load of bull because Louis complained just as much as he did on any other day. Birthday be damned.

“Oh bullocks,” Louis groaned as it occurred to him that he was not going to be falling back asleep. Yet another birthday sleep sabotaged by the twins. Still, Louis wasn't ready to go downstairs yet. Because in spite of all the little things that were going the same this birthday, there was one huge gaping difference that sat heavy in his throat.

His father had set out on a grain delivery eight months ago and had never returned. Despite all their efforts, the family hadn't heard a word on his whereabouts. All they had discovered was that he hadn't made a delivery and hadn't passed through any of his usual towns, which was suspicious enough to leave them worried. Even more suspicious though was that before he had left he had given Louis his father's amulet, an heirloom Louis hadn't been expecting to get for another fifty or so years. Even now, eight months later, Louis was still haunted by the look he had seen in his father's eyes and had ignored. His father's face had been resigned, resolute, determined, proud, and apologetic all at once and Louis had wanted to say something but he had bit his tongue.

He grabbed the pillow he had tossed aside and pressed it against his face again, inhaling deeply and riding through the wave of guilt that crashed against his core. His mother was the only person that knew about that exchange and she fiercely told him on a nearly daily basis that he wasn't to blame. That whatever his father had done was not his burden to carry. That even if he had said something his father would have left anyhow. Louis hated the tears he saw in his mother's eyes every time they had that conversation. Rolling out of bed, Louis paced over to his window that overlooked their land and focused on the wash of pinks and oranges that were painted on the horizon. He wondered how much she knew that she wasn't telling him. He wondered if she knew just as little as he did.

He didn't know which thought hurt more.

Absently, Louis pulled the amulet out from under his night shirt and stared down at it.

_“You must never show this necklace to anyone, Louis. It carries a great family secret that I'm now entrusting to you.”_

And then he had failed to entrust any of the great family secret to Louis and had told him, “When the time is right, you will know,” as if he were some wizened old philosopher and not Louis' simple, hard-working father – a man of the land, not the mind.

It was an odd thing, definitely not like most necklaces or amulets Louis saw at market when he went into town. The stone in the middle never stayed the same colour. At first he had thought his eyes were playing tricks on him but there had been one day where it had been a dark stormy grey and then hours later it had been crystal white. Louis hadn't been able to blame that one on his eyes. 

He wondered what was so special about it that his father had made him promise to keep it hidden at all times. Perhaps it was the strange writing engraved in the gold that encased the stone. The language was like none Louis had ever seen before. He let out a breathy laugh, not that he was educated enough to be able to recognize any language but his own. With the exception of those in the large cities, the people of the Kingdom of Peronia weren't a particularly educated bunch. Louis curled his fingers around the amulet, giving it a tight squeeze before dropping it back under his shirt. This was the part where he pulled himself together and put on a smile and enjoyed his twenty-fourth birthday – enjoyed his first birthday without a father.

After quickly dressing and checking the mirror to make sure his hair wasn't completely askew, Louis headed downstairs to the smell of his mother's marvelous cooking. At the bottom of the stairs the sounds of his sisters speaking caused him to pause.

“I bet he's going to spend half his day in town in the tavern with Stan,” Lottie speculated, clearly shooting down whatever had just been said.

“And Eleanor,” Phoebe added with a giggle and Louis couldn't help but roll his eyes. There was only one girl in town near his age so his sisters had decided they just _had_ to be in love.

“Does anyone _actually_ think he likes her though?” Fizzie asked rhetorically, unknowingly making her older brother grin. She was good with people, Fizzie. She paid attention and noticed the things that other people ignored.

Not that it took a genius to figure out that Louis wasn't particularly enchanted by Eleanor.

“Doesn't have much of a choice, does he?” Lottie retorted and that was Louis' cue.

He popped around the corner and pretended to wipe sleep from his eyes. “Much of a choice about what?” Louis asked wide-eyed and pleased with the way his sisters' cheeks lit up with guilty blushes.

“About what's for breakfast, love,” his mother saved, sweeping into the conversation and planting a warm kiss to Louis' cheek and catching him in a quick hug. “Happy birthday, old boy,” she teased, eyes twinkling.

The twins thought that was just the funniest thing anyone could have ever said, melting into a puddle of snickers and giggles. Louis glowered at his mother for the jab. It was no secret that Louis had no intention of growing up any time soon. The older he got, the more reckless he became to compensate.

“Thanks, Grams,” Louis shot back with a sarcastic smile that quickly became a laugh when his mother's jaw nearly hit the floor.

“Keep it up Lou and you'll be having nothing for your birthday breakfast,” she warned, brandishing the sausage fork and waving it in his direction threateningly. No one took her seriously, but all the same Louis plopped down at the kitchen table like the polite son he was and clapped his hands together, ensuring that all eyes were on him.

“Since I'm not having any breakfast we may as well cut to the gifts!” he announced, always after the last word, especially with his mother, who he had inherited his wit from. “Let's have 'em then.”

Before Johanna could protest or get in a word the twins were squealing and pulling out their chairs where they had hidden their gifts. Fizzie and Lottie weren't quite so enthused, but nevertheless they also pulled out their chairs, revealing boxes wrapped in brown paper with ribbon tied around them. 

“Ours first,” Daisy demanded, picking up hers and Phoebes' boxes and placing them on Louis' empty plate. A quick glance in the direction of his mother and Louis was witness to a fond eye roll and a shake of the head.

“Might as well then,” she encouraged, sauntering over to the table and shifting to lean against it as she waited with everyone else for Louis to open the presents.

Because Louis was always one for a spectacle, he made the whole thing into an ordeal, shaking both of the boxes and speculating that one was empty because he heard nothing in it. He checked the tag and accused Phoebe of neglecting her sisterly responsibilities, which earned him a wail and a soft slap on the shoulder.

“Just oooopen it!” she demanded, grabbing his hand and putting it on the bow.

Louis was tempted to call her out on the slap and ask his mother to do her job and say something but--

“So you'll just stand there and watch your children hitting and not say a thing then, mom?” Louis asked his mother in an offended tone as he pulled on the bow and tossed the ribbon to Daisy.

His mother didn't even blink. “Be a dear and give him another swat for me, Phoebe.” 

Of course Phoebe acquiesced with no further prompting. Of course.

Louis decided to keep his trap shut after that and opened the box, whatever retort he had been holding back dying in his throat when he saw the lovely cloak inside. It was made of a forest green wool with a gorgeous vine pattern stitched in silver thread along the hood – it was nearly identical to the one his father had always worn when he'd gone off. Louis pulled the garment from the box and stood, throwing it over his shoulders and pulling the hood over his head. There was nothing to fasten it at his neck but he wasn't about to mention that.

“Phoebes,” Louis breathed, pulling the cloak off and delicately folding it to place back in the box, “It's lovely, kid.”

She blushed. “I made it with mom's help,” she revealed, suddenly shy, and Louis pulled her into a strong one armed hug. “We wanted to make you one just like dad's,” she added in a more quiet tone and Louis desperately fought the sting in his eyes.

“It's exactly like his,” Louis replied and his voice could barely come out as more than a whisper. There was a moment of silence where Louis didn't dare look at his sisters or mother because he knew he'd just come closer to crying if he did.

“Mine next?” Daisy said eventually and Louis nodded, unable to reply around the lump in his throat. This time when he pulled the ribbon free and tore off the paper there was no laughter or friendly banter. The room was quiet. From the corner of his eye, Louis saw his mom pull Phoebe under her arm and kiss the top of her head, pausing to whisper something that made Phoebe sniffle and quietly giggle.

Louis returned his attention to his present, opening it and finding a silver brooch inside that was about the size of his pointer and middle fingers together. The brooch was an exquisite bow, with a vine wrapped around the bowstave that connected the upper and lower limbs of the bow, serving as the string, which was pulled taught with the pin. The pin was the arrow and had feathered patterned fletching on the end that was inlaid with green jewels. Louis doubted they were actually emeralds but he didn't really care. 

“Daisy, how did you even find this?” he asked, absolutely stunned and not quite believing this wasn't his mother's doing. He lifted his gaze to her and she shook her head with a proud smile.

“There was a trader from Sol passing through town and he had lots of fancy jewellery and stuff...” Daisy replied noncommittally. The twins were a rambunctious pair but they were both admirably humble.

“Well thank you,” Louis said earnestly, offering her a hug as well, “It will go beautifully with my new cloak.”

Next were his gifts from Fizzie and Lottie, which were also a joint gift. Lottie, perhaps the most practical of the bunch suggested he just open them at the same time as both girls and been a part of both parts of the gift.

“It's not all that easy to open two gifts at once,” Louis pointed out but lucky for him Daisy offered to open one of the boxes for him. He laughed, announcing, “Daisy the Selfless! Not sure I would have been able to open them without you!”

The mood lightened after that and both Daisy and Louis quickly opened the gifts and Louis couldn't quite believe his eyes when he saw what he had gotten.

“You've all gone above and beyond,” he said in amazement as his eyes took in the brand new bow and quiver set his sisters had gotten him. He ran his hands over the bow, which was the orange yellow tone of yew and was smooth as glass under his hands. The handle was painted a dark chocolate with gold trim and had a decorative feather like pattern (also dark chocolate trimmed with gold) on either side of the handle. The quiver was deep brown leather, close in colour to the chocolate painting on the bow. It had a chest strap and was to be worn across the back. It had straps to attach the bow to it and also had a pouch at hip level with a dagger in it. 

“We know you miss archery...” Lottie explained, her voice trailing off and her expression pinching.

She wasn't lying. Louis had used to love archery – had done it all the time with his father and was the best shot in town. He rarely missed his target. It hadn't really crossed Louis' mind that he hadn't been out shooting since his father had disappeared. Louis realized his hand was still resting on the bow and he removed it, smiling tightly at Lottie.

“I do,” he agreed as if he was just discovering that he did in fact miss archery.

There was another awkward pause, this one broken by their mother.

“Girls, can you move Louis' presents off the table and go fill your plates?” she asked while stepping forward to take Louis' hand, continuing in a quiet voice, “I've got your present in my room, love.”

Louis followed his mother into her room and was surprised to see her eyes full of tears when they got there. She closed the door and then was on him, arms holding him tight and her face buried in his shoulder. Louis was quick to return the hug, biting his lip to fight back the tears. He had known this birthday was going to be hard but anticipating a moment rarely ever made it any less difficult. It wasn't until a few minutes had passed that Johanna finally stepped out of the hug, wiping at her eyes and offering Louis a watery smile.

“He was a wonderful man,” she said and Louis didn't have to ask who she was talking about. “And he loved you so much. You were his only son and that made you so special to him.”

Louis hated that a tear actually fell. He also hated that he couldn't get up the courage to ask her why she kept talking about his father in the past tense. 

“I know it's not sentimental like what the girls gave you,” she continued after a moment, “But you're twenty-four now and you've been stuck in this town all your life and I thought maybe you and Stan wanted to head out for a weekend – do some archery, stop by Mainesville and stay a night at the inn and have all the pints your hearts desire.”

Louis raised an eyebrow at that and his mother laughed.

“You're twenty-four, Lou. I know you and Stan love getting absolutely knackered. Don't think your antics somehow reach everyone but me.”

“Funny that, because I don't recall ever getting up to any antics, mother,” Louis replied without missing a beat. Johanna didn't laugh, didn't even smile. Her hand was in her pocket and she was frozen. The only thing that was moving was her expression as it became more strained.

“I've got twenty gold pieces here for you,” she choked out and pulled a change purse from her pocket that Louis had seen a million times.

“Dad's change purse?” he asked confused, “How did you get that?”

Again his mother's eyes welled with tears and she tilted her head to the side and she didn't have to say a word. Louis knew what that expression meant. The change purse had come back and so had the news that his father was dead. Goddess, Louis felt faint. And sick. 

All he could say was “When?” in a strangled hush.

He couldn't stand.

Reaching out, Louis placed his hand on his mother's bed and shuffled forward to collapse on it. His cheeks were burning and so damp and he hadn't even realized he'd begun crying until his mother's arms were around him, holding his head to her chest as she stroked his hair.

“Yesterday, love. I didn't know how to tell you.”

And Louis had never ever heard his mother sob before that moment. Even when they had realized he wasn't coming home she hadn't sobbed. She'd quietly shed a few tears but that was it. But this-- 

Her whole body was trembling as she held onto him like he was her only lifeline. He could feel her tears as they fell onto the top of his head and Louis hadn't even shed a tear since his father had left but suddenly there it all was. All the fear, and pain, and loneliness. Suddenly he was a scared little boy that had lost his father too early and wasn't ready to care for his family – wasn't ready to fill his father's impossibly large shoes. Louis had always heard people speak of heartache but it wasn't until this moment that he understood it, for his entire chest ached. It hurt so deeply and so strongly that all he could do was shift uncomfortably in his mother's arms and wait for the pain to fade.

They sat there sobbing into each other's arms for what felt like an eternity and when his mother finally wiped his eyes and told him he had a birthday breakfast to return to, the ache was still there.

\- - -

Louis stumbled out of the woods, his feet tumbling over each other and carrying him through the field of flax. If he squinted, he could see his home in the distance, just barely visible in the moonlight. The lights were all out. Louis inhaled deeply, enjoying the crisp night air. He was completely and utterly swacked. After breakfast was over, Louis had put on his cloak and pin, and equipped himself with his bow and quiver and headed into town in search of Stan. They were notorious around town for their shenanigans and were the suspects of much petty thievery. 

At a young age they had learned that they could curb their boredom by sticking to the shadows, climbing roofs, and sneaking down alleys. They made a game out of getting places they weren't supposed to be and taking things they weren't supposed to take. As they'd grown, it had been Louis that had become the real clever sneak. While Stan had grown into something of brute, Louis had grown into a much smaller and leaner frame. He had always been small for his age and while it didn't make him much use in a pub fight, it did help him get around unnoticed. As grown ups the game became more elaborate: Stan would cause a ruckus and Louis would dart about picking pockets and looting market stalls. He never took anything of much value, a couple coppers and silvers here and there until they had enough to fill their tummys full of brew in the pub. 

That night however, the boys had no need for usual antics, as Johanna had sent them out on the town with a jingling purse of their own. The pair had bought their weight in beer with part of the money Louis' mother had given him and then they'd gone out to the woods, armed with bows and arrows and a barrel of mead for some casual archery and drinking. Well, the archery was casual. The drinking, by all accounts, was halfway to lethal.

As he approached the centre of the field, Louis finally came to a halt. With careful movements, he removed his quiver and bow from his back then collapsed into the sea of flax, sending up a cloud of purple dust. The sky was spinning and his stomach was churning but at least that heavy pain in the centre of his chest had eased. It was just as Louis was passing out that he noticed a large black dog had joined him and was laying beside him, staring intently.

“Roll me over if I puke, hey?” Louis slurred with a crooked grin before finally letting sleep take him.

\- - -

When Louis finally awoke, it wasn't because he was ready to wake up. It was because there was a cold sting of metal against his neck and the thick smell of smoke in his nose. His eyes snapped open and he found himself staring at a boy like no other he had ever seen before. He had unusually sharp and dark features and a deeper skin tone than anything Louis had seen before. His dark hair was dusted purple from the flax they were both concealed in. The boy couldn't have been much older than Louis, if he even was older. The dagger that was being held to Louis' neck released some of it's pressure. 

Louis opened his mouth, had barely even inhaled to speak, and the pressure returned. The boy held a finger to his lips and shook his head, and Louis noticed a glint of light at his throat. The boy had a thick gold band encrusted with a red jewel around his neck. Louis had never seen anything like it. Still drunk, Louis' mind was slow to process what exactly was happening but when it had finally caught up with the situation the panic set in.

It was as if the boy sensed Louis' panic because he placed his free hand on Louis' shoulder and squeezed then looked up. Following his gaze, Louis realized that there was a thick cloud of smoke overhead completely eclipsing the night sky. Perking up, Louis realized that if he listened he could hear the blaze crackling, could hear the sound of a structure collapsing in on itself piece by piece.

His home!

This time Louis thought nothing of the dagger at his throat and pushed against his captor in an attempt to sit up, he felt the steel as it broke his skin but didn't stop. If he was going to die, he was going to die making sure his family wasn't in their burning house. The boy atop Louis pressed him down with a firm hand in the centre of Louis' chest and shook his head, his face was completely impassive and--

“Lottie?” Louis heard his little sister Daisy's voice split through the air in a terrified scream and he _had_ to get to the house. Wildly, he reached his hand out, groping for his quiver but as his hand fumbled through the thick stalks of flax, Louis realized that his quiver and arrow were on the boy's back. All right then. Louis had been in a bar brawl before. He swung his arm in a wide hook catching the boy's cheek in a hard punch. 

It didn't dislodge the boy. Didn't surprise him. Didn't affect him at all.

“Where is your son?” Louis heard a gravelly voice demand in the distance and his heart wrenched and if it had hurt before it was nothing compared to the torture that this was.

“That's my family,” Louis hissed at the boy and found that a hand was quickly slapped over his mouth. 

“You will never have my son.” Johanna's voice was strong and fearless and Louis wanted to block it all out as he heard Daisy and Phoebe whimpering.

Another scream, this time Fizzy's and Louis was thrashing against the boy holding him with every part of his being.

“You've lost two daughters. Give up your son and you can make this all stop.” The voice burned into Louis' brain and he bit down on the hand covering his mouth and still no reaction. What was this boy's purpose? He wanted to scream, “If you're going to kill me anyway at least let me save their lives!” but it was useless. Any and all sounds he made were completely and utterly muffled by his captor's hand.

“Whatever you want with him, you will never get it from us!” Johanna hollered fiercely, her voice rising over the sound of her home as it crackled and collapsed. He heard Daisy scream and the boy holding him down leaned forward, pressing his mouth to Louis' ear.

“I am deeply sorry. Let me be merciful,” he whispered and before Louis could understand what the boy meant everything went black.

\- - -

“We're going to have to wake him up soon. We can't stay here.”

“He just heard his family being murdered. Let him have peace a bit longer.”

“The dead have no peace in the hands of our enemy.”

Louis groaned, uncaring that the owners of the two voices would hear him. His head was pounding, his neck stung where it had been cut, his stomach was preparing a revolt, and the stupid heavy ache of grief hadn't left his chest. Slowly, he opened his eyes. With a start, he realized he was in a forest, presumably Stonytree Forest as it was the only forest near his home. He squinted against the light that was falling through the canopy overhead, glowing beams cutting through the shade. It was daytime, which meant Louis had no idea how long he had been asleep. Why had he fallen asle--

Right.

Louis clenched his eyes tightly against the memories that suddenly came at him, battering his very existence with their unjust cruelty. 

“Louis?” a voice tentatively asked and Louis suddenly remembered the unfamiliar boy that had held him down and rendered him useless as his family was murdered in cold blood just across the field. He sat up sharply, eyes flying open as he realized this was a new speaker addressing him - someone that knew Louis' name. His gaze landed on the speaker – a long lithe boy definitely not as old as Louis with lengthy curls framing his face and features that were more native to Louis' homeland than the other boy's had been. Louis noted that the darker featured of the pair was sat at the speaker's side.

“Who are you?” Louis demanded in a gruff voice, noting that the first of his assailants was still wearing Louis' bow and quiver on his back.

“We're friends,” the newcomer assured him with kind eyes that almost seemed trustworthy. “You can call me Curly and him Alpha,” the boy – no, Curly – continued, gesturing with his hand towards Louis' original captor, the sleeve of his shirt riding up enough to expose that Curly had a tattoo on his wrist.

“You're a servant of the Goddess?” Louis interrupted, narrowing his eyes as he examined the glowing gold sun that was forever inked into Curly's skin through magic. His father had told Louis of the servants of the Goddess Rhea. They were not all human and they were not all healers like most believed, but they all bore the mark of the Goddess.

“I am,” Curly replied with a small nod, pushing up his sleeve and holding his wrist out for closer examination. “I know you may not believe me right now, but we're here to help you.” 

“You're right,” Louis shot back, leaning away from the gesture, “I don't believe you.” His eyes drifted over to Alpha, who was quietly observing the exchange with a passive expression, and he decided in that moment that he was going to make a break for it. He couldn't stay with these strangers and he couldn't leave Doncaster, not when there was a chance that his mother, Daisy, and Phoebe could still be alive. 

“We don't have the time right now to explain what's happening,” Curly told him with a look of understanding, “but the second we reach our destination we'll fill you in.”

That was total horseshit and Louis couldn't believe they thought he was stupid enough to believe them. He pushed himself to his feet; there was no way he was going to be a willing and compliant captive to these two.

“Don't bother,” he growled, “I'm not coming with you. I'm going back to see if my mother and sisters are all right.” A tightness settled in his throat at the idea of what lay waiting for him at his home, the farm he had known for his entire life – what lay beyond the thick forest canopy and the purple sea of flax.

“We can't let that happen,” Alpha said, finally becoming an active participant in the conversation. He rose to his feet. “Your family is dead and their killers are waiting for you to return. Our only advantage right now is that they have no idea we've found you.”

“Who are _they_?” Louis demanded, voice cracking as the weight of the words “your family is dead” fell on him. He sneered, pushing aside the gaping hole that was growing in his soul and stepped forward. “Who are these mystical people with no names that are after _me_ , a boy who's never left Doncaster?” His head pounded at a point on his temple and Louis realized that must have been where Alpha had struck him to knock him out – to keep him from saving his mother and sisters.

“ _They_ ,” Alpha replied, voice rising in the face of Louis' anger, “Are a group of people dedicated to killing you and--”

“We,” Curly interrupted calmly, placing a hand on Alpha's arm, “are part of a group of people dedicated to protecting you--”

“Whether you want our protection or not,” Alpha interjected and tossed his counterpart an annoyed glare. 

“Well I don't want it,” Louis spat, “Why would I want protection from you? You let my mother and sisters _die_!” He took another step forward, fists clenching at his sides as he tried to reign in his rage. Curly winced at the accusation and was suddenly unable to hold Louis' eye contact.

Good.

“We had no choice,” he murmured quietly and ran his hand over his face, pausing to pinch the bridge of his nose. “We located you too late to move them to safety. It was pure luck that we found you in that field at all,” Curly tried to explain, tried to _plead_ , and an ever growing part of Louis wished he was still unconscious and blissfully unaware of all of this.

“There are two of you,” Louis reasoned in a tone far from reason and ration and sensibility. “Why couldn't one of you have gone to them?”

Alpha's expression softened and he let out a breath. “Because,” he replied, voice heavy, “There is a small army of them and only two of us. They'll be realizing you're not coming home soon and will begin searching the forest. We can't let them find you.”

“Bullocks to what you want!” Louis swiped his hand through the air, tears stinging his eyes. “I don't care if they find me or not. What exactly have I got to live for at this point? I've got no dad, no mom, no sisters, no home. Do you know what it is to have nothing? No one? ...If you have any mercy you'll kill me yourselves.”

“Louis, your life doesn't just affect you. You _need_ to live,” Curly said emphatically, “We _will_ explain, I promise. But now is not the time. All you need to know is that there's a reason there are entire groups of people dedicated to killing you and protecting you.”

There was a long pause and Louis wasn't sure he would be able to do this. He didn't know if anything these boys said would be able to convince him that going with them was his best option, even if they were making it out to be his only option.

“Your father didn't die finding us and telling us where you were for us to let you give up on yourself, Louis.” Curly's voice was so hushed that Louis wasn't sure if he'd actually even said those words. Nevertheless he grasped onto the strand of hope like it was a rope and his only lifeline.

Perhaps it was.

“My father sent you?” he asked on a shaky breath.

“Yes.” Alpha stepped forward, grabbing Louis' shoulder and pushing him forward. “Now come with us willingly or come with us as a prisoner. It's your choice.”

Louis glanced at Curly and saw a tentative and sympathetic smile sitting on his lips and noticed for the first time that the taller boy had dimples. His eyes drifted over Curly's face, taking in every line and wrinkle and mark and scar and in that moment he decided that he didn't really have a choice but to at least sort of trust them. He didn't say a word, refused to tell them his decision and make it real. Instead he put one foot in front of the other, one at a time, and began walking. It wasn't a second before Alpha was ahead of him picking up the lead and Curly was at his side. 

Louis pretended not to notice the relieved smile Curly gave him.

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we're into the actual story! Hope you're enjoying so far and feel free to leave me any thoughts you have on it! xo


	3. The Truth About Tales

Never in his life had Louis walked as much as he did that first day in the forest. When the sun had set and Alpha finally conceded to Louis' excessive whining and let them stop for the night, Louis' body didn't even feel like his own. His back was cramping and achy, his feet were throbbing, and his shoulders felt tight and hot with pain. 

“I don't suppose this merry little journey comes with a warm bath?” Louis mused as he collapsed against a tree, raggedly sliding down the trunk until his bottom hit the ground. He watched Alpha toss Curly an irritated expression, which was met with an almost amused half-grin. 

“You supposed right,” Alpha replied in a clipped tone as he took off Louis' bow and quiver and then removed his pack. “You're not getting them back until I can trust you,” he continued and it took a moment before Louis realized his gaze had been lingering on the gifts his eldest sisters had given him. The comment sat hot under Louis' skin like fire.

“Well that's a bit ass backward, isn't it?” Louis bit out, “Shouldn't you be the ones trying to earn _my_ trust?” He fingered the bow and arrow brooch Daisy had given him. The silver was cool beneath his fingers but it did nothing to chill his temper – chill the sudden all consuming discomfort that was worming its way through his body. He swallowed around the lump in his throat. He wanted to scream and cry and smack something just to hear a satisfying _crack_.

He wanted to give his mother a tight hug. He wanted to fall asleep and wake up to the feeling of two little bodies crawling all over him and tugging away his blanket with their little hands.

Curly must have seen the shift in Louis' expression because next thing Louis knew there was an arm slung around his shoulder and a warm body pressed against his side.

“Go grab some wood for a fire, Alpha?” Curly's voice was soft and he politely waited for Alpha to be out of sight before he spoke again. “You have to understand, Louis,” he started in a quiet plea, “We wanted to save them. It's not a consolation, but we're both devastated that we weren't able to do anything.” His tone was so sincere and did nothing to soothe Louis. It only broadened the aching lump that had been sitting in his throat all day. Louis kept his gaze fixated on the bow and quiver. He had no reply to that. The arm around his shoulder squeezed.

After a long pause, during which it became obvious that Louis wasn't going to say anything, Curly drew in a breath and spoke, “We want to let you have your bow and we want you to trust us but we have to protect you, and we can't really do that if you nick us off in our sleep.” Louis could hear the tiny smile in Curly's words.

“I'm not sure I feel all that safe with a Priest as my protector,” Louis replied in a deadpan. He dared a glance at Curly and saw a smile.

“You'd be surprised how useful we servants of the Goddess can be,” he said with quiet humour. The comment hit Louis square in the chest though and a question burned at his very soul.

“Is that why my father sought you out?” Louis asked and watched the smile and the humour as they were choked out of Curly's expression. He didn't reply at first, eyes glazing over and becoming haunted as he stared off at nothing.

Louis wanted to shake him and force out a response but he was scared that if he pushed too hard the answer wouldn't come at all so he bit his tongue and dusted off his seldom practised patience and waited.

It felt like an eternity before Curly finally opened his mouth. “He knew that you're special and he knew that he wouldn't be able to keep you hidden much longer,” Curly said carefully, “He wanted you safe, Louis...” His voice was tight with unused breath as if he had more to say but no further words came. Curly exhaled a long sigh – exhaled whatever thought it was that he had decided to keep to himself.

“Did you ever meet him?” Louis hated that his voice shook with the question.

“No.” The answer was immediate. “He went to the Temple in Sol to speak with the High Priestess. It's been almost.... ten years since I was last in Sol,” Curly explained and his tone was breathless as if he was just realizing for the first time how long he had been away from the Kingdom's capital. 

“Beautiful city,” a deep voice intoned and both Curly and Louis jumped to their feet, Curly drawing a dagger from beneath his cloak with a swiftness that startled Louis even more than the voice. Alpha appeared from behind a large tree with a laugh and dropped the bundle of twigs and branches that was piled in his arms. “Good to see you're not completely useless without me,” he teased.

Louis was taken aback by the friendly tone as he had not heard Alpha speak so casually once in the day he had known him. Curly let his hand gripping the dagger fall to his side and breathed out a relieved laugh.

“I've got a talent for getting by, haven't I?” he responded with a small blush, pushing his curls back from his eyes. 

Alpha dropped to his haunches with a half shrug and began assembling the twigs to make a fire. “We've all got that talent.” His tone was still playful and he glanced up at Curly with the tiniest smirk on his dark features. 

At that moment Louis' stomach decided to suddenly make itself known and grumbled loud enough for both Curly and Alpha to hear, much to Louis' mortification. He hadn't even realized he was hungry. Before Louis could say something Curly burst into a crooked smile, eyes twinkling.

“Better hurry with that fire, Alpha, or someone's stomach is going to continue making a fuss.”

Louis scowled at Curly, dropping back down to sit against his tree. “Unless you'd rather I starve to death,” he sniped and Alpha snorted.

“Looks like it's not his stomach's fussing we'll have to worry about,” he started, but at Louis' unamused look he rolled his eyes and took his captive a bit more seriously. “We wouldn't rather you starve to death but you might wish you could after you taste Curly's cooking.”

\- - -

Louis awoke with a start when he felt a cool hand covering his mouth. The moment was all too familiar. He was on his back, wrapped in the bedroll Curly had given him, and was staring up at Alpha's dark features. It was the middle of the night and what little he could see was courtesy of the slivers of moonlight breaking through the canopy of the forest. Louis lifted an eyebrow in silent question and received only a brisk head shake in response. 

Movement to his left caught Louis' attention and he realized that Curly was crouched down beside them with his sword drawn. If he listened closely, Louis could hear the sounds of careful footsteps not very far off. A twig snapped and the sounds completely vanished for a few moments before continuing again. Were these the people that were after him? Had they found them?

Louis' eyes widened with panic and he pressed up against Alpha's hand, struggling to break free of the grip. If these were the people that had killed his family he did not want to be wrapped up in a bedroll hiding like a coward. They had to fight. He thrashed harder against Alpha's grip and could see the man getting frustrated with him. 

The steely ring of a weapon being drawn sliced through the near silence and before Louis could even register that a second face had appeared behind Alpha's the face was gone, falling to the side. Curly was on his feet, bloodied sword in hand and an apologetic expression on his face.

“Sorry, Alph,” he murmured. Louis never caught what Alpha's response was because suddenly a group of men was upon them and Alpha was on his feet, graceful as a cat as he drew two curved blades from the sheathes at his hips – if Louis' memory was correct they were scimitars, blades favoured by the warriors that lived on the other side of the Lantern Sea. Louis had never seen an actual battle before but he was happy to be on Alpha and Curly's side.

They both fought with precise movements and it was as if they were able to anticipate their opponents' every move. Louis scrambled out of the bedroll and backed out of the fray, still on the ground. No one had noticed him yet, which he was thankful for as he had no weapon. His arrow and quiver weren't on Alpha's back, which meant they were on the ground somewhere.

Louis could work with that.

His eyes scanned the ground, fighting against the darkness as they sought out his prized weapon. It was not the easiest of tasks as he had to continuously check to make sure none of their assailants had noticed his presence yet. He counted six of them in total. Two were on the ground dead, one near Louis, his sword within reach. Louis eyed the weapon, his mind racing around the idea of picking it up. He had never been good with a sword. They were heavy and bulky and unsuited to Louis' small frame and meagre upper body strength. No, he decided quickly, there was no use taking the sword. He'd be more likely to get himself killed than be of any help. His gaze quickly darted back to the clearing where the other four attackers were taking on Curly and Alpha and not having nearly as much success as they should have been having given their advantage in numbers. 

There! Louis released a pleased breath when his eyes caught the glint of his bow just across the clearing. He was quick to move, shifting into a low crouch and winding amongst the shadows that lined the clearing. This was his forte: moving unseen and unheard. His soft footfalls were lost in the bright clang of the sword fighting. The relief he felt when his hand wrapped around the bow was unlike anything he had ever felt before. He hurriedly tossed his quiver onto his back and drew an arrow. Curly was still juggling two opponents while Alpha had only one remaining. They were all so close together and moving so quickly that Louis couldn't make out a clean shot. 

He could run.

This was it. His opportunity to leave behind his captors and return home.

But for what?

Revenge? A battle he had no hope of winning? Cinders and ashes in place of what was once his home?

A flicker of movement just beyond the skirmish caught Louis' attention and he realized there was a fourth man behind a tree. Louis could barely see him in the dark but he was there, sword in hand and ready to jump into the fray when the moment was right.

The two men on Curly shifted, forcing him into the defensive and backing him up towards the man that was hidden in the shadows, his drawn dagger glinting in the moonlight. Steeling himself, Louis drew back his arrow and set his aim on the man just beyond Curly. This was his first time firing at another human being. The shot was entirely clear and Louis held no doubts when he released the string and sent the weapon free. It caught the man square in the throat and he fell back, crumpling into the shadows. Louis swallowed hard. He had never killed a man before. He wasn't sure how he felt but he also refused to let himself take the time to decide how he felt. 

The unexpected shot caught Curly's opponents off guard, giving Curly the chance he needed to even his odds as he struck the bigger of the two men down. A moment later Alpha struck down his final opponent, his sword plunging through the man's midsection and knocking him to his knees. He turned and the final one of their attackers dropped his sword and threw up his hands in surrender.

“Please,” he pleaded in a rough accent, “Let me go and do me no harm, lads.” His hands were still above his shoulders as he dropped to his knees before Alpha and Curly. They exchanged a look that Louis couldn't see.

“We can't,” Alpha said in a hard tone, not to the man but to Curly. He shook his head against whatever look Curly must have given him in response and repeated more firmly, “We _can't_.”

“Who sent you?” Curly asked the man, stepping between him and Alpha. His tone was soft but firm and Louis knew that he would never be able to speak to someone that had tried to kill him with such control.

“Sent me?” the man parroted, furrowing his brow in confusion. “Ain't nobody sending us anywhere.” 

“Curly--” Alpha started again in a dangerous tone but Curly paid him no mind, throwing up a hand to silence his companion.

“What did you want with us then?” He continued his questioning as if Alpha wasn't even there. Louis moved closer, coming up to hover just behind Alpha, watching the exchange over the taller man's shoulder.

“We're bandits, ain't we?” the man said with condescension. “We want gold, and food, and weapons and jewels we might be able to spin into a bit of coinage.” His mouth curved into a sickening grin. Up close Louis could see that the man's smile was brown and rotting and crooked and scattered with holes where his teeth were no more.

“And where will you go if we show you mercy?” Curly asked and this time it was him that was cut off.

“We're not letting him walk,” Alpha all but growled.

Curly looked over his shoulder and his eyes were steely with resolve. “We don't kill men that have surrendered,” he recited and Louis had no idea where the words came from but they clearly weren't his own and they clearly meant something. 

“When this catches up with us...” Alpha threatened but didn't finish his thought. He instead turned on his heel and began to clean up their camp, his movements rough with anger.

While their captive may have appeared to be on the simple side, he wasn't quite so dull as to miss what was clearly his narrowing window of opportunity.

“I'll head south to the harbour in Lucemia. Cross the Lantern Sea even! Won't speak a word of seeing you alls,” he assured Curly with a plea in his dark beady eyes. Behind them, Alpha was noisily packing away his bedroll and – Louis couldn't quite believe it – snarling.

Curly didn't even blink. “Best be off then,” he said. The man reached for the sword he had dropped in his surrender and was stopped when the tip of Curly's blade came to rest against his throat. “You can leave that with us.”

The man was clearly not pleased with Curly's decision but he was also not quite daft enough to argue and left the campsite without another word, breaking into a run once he was just past the treeline.

Louis watched as Alpha hurled Curly's bag at him, the sack hitting the Priest square in the chest and sending him back a couple steps. His jaw was set and he was glaring something fierce at his companion. When the bandit's footsteps finally grew too distant to be heard, he spoke.

“You don't think they'll grab him and ask him what happened that he's a lone bandit leaving the forest?” Alpha demanded in a quiet fury.

“He surrender--”

“You don't throw Cowell's words at me to justify endangering not just our lives, but the lives of every denizen of this kingdom,” Alpha cut in, eyes flashing with rage.

Curly faltered under the intensity of Alpha's gaze. There was a long pause and Louis swore he didn't breathe for the entire duration of it.

Finally, Curly said, “We can't become our enemies.” His tone was deliberate and resolved and he lifted his eyes to meet Alpha's stare head on. He didn't receive a reply. Instead Alpha tossed Louis' pack at him and shrugged his own over his shoulders. He purposely kept his eyes off Curly as he passed him and began heading into the woods, confident they would follow. As he walked he loudly addressed Louis, tossing the words over his shoulder.

“Louis, congratulations. You can keep your bow.”

\- - -

Never in all his years had Louis seen someone ignore another person with such commitment as Alpha ignored Curly. The remainder of their time in the forest was spent without a word or look spent on his companion. He was steadfastly acting as if Curly didn't exist. He would speak to Louis when necessary and that was it.

For his part, Curly was taking the rejection in stride. He made no clear effort to attract Alpha's attention and instead quietly went along with the punishment as if he deserved it. Louis didn't know if Curly deserved the intense silent treatment or not. He knew that Curly had clearly crossed a line when he had thrown “Cowell's” words in Alpha's face; not that Louis knew who Cowell was or why it was such a betrayal for Curly to quote him. He had also seemed to have gone too far when he had told Alpha that his method was the method of their enemy.

Louis could understand why that would sting. If Curly had insinuated that he had any similarities to the people that had killed his family he probably would have put an arrow through his heart without a second thought. Then again, Louis had no real attachment to these two beyond the fact that they were his only option at the moment.

It was at dusk, when they had reached the forest's edge, that Alpha finally addressed Curly. He stopped just short of the treeline and sank into a crouch. Curly automatically did the same and Louis was learning that whatever Curly and Alpha both instinctively did was always his best bet as well. He'd learned to follow their lead the hard way when earlier that day he had walked through a small path with a strange blue grass rather than through an adjacent bush. Taking the bush route had seemed silly until the grass released a putrid odour that had clung to Louis' shoes for the better part of the day until they found a stream for him to wash them in.

With that in mind, Louis came to crouch alongside Curly and Alpha, who appeared to be looking for something.

“What are we looking for?” he asked Curly in a whisper as he eyed the empty field beyond the treeline. There didn't appear to be anything threatening out there. A couple of stones, a berry bush or two, some butterflies... It was basically nature being nature out there.

“Baleks,” Curly replied offhandedly as he continued to scan the plain and Louis wasn't sure why Curly was being so casual.

“Baleks?” Louis echoed. 

Both Alpha and Curly stopped their searching to look at Louis.

“You've heard of Baleks, haven't you?” Alpha asked, surprised. And then he finally acknowledged Curly existed and shared a look with him. A very judgemental look.

“I've _heard_ of them,” Louis retorted defensively. Of course he had heard of them. For years he had read his sisters stories about Baleks, the exotic race that lived beyond the Lantern Sea and could take the shape of any animal. “They were in practically all the stories I read my sisters. Good bit of fiction they are,” he sniped, feeling cornered by their reactions.

Curly outright laughed and Alpha smothered a snort in the palm of his hand and Louis felt as if he was the butt of a very bad joke.

“What?” he demanded, feeling his cheeks flush as Curly continued to laugh and Alpha continued to hide his smile in his hand.

“Baleks are _very_ real,” Curly assured him, smirking crookedly. Louis squinted at him suspiciously.

“How sheltered is Doncaster?” Alpha asked in amused disbelief, “You really thought we were fictional?” 

What?

Louis felt his jaw drop but he couldn't do anything about it.

“You're Baleks?” he asked incredulously, eyes darting between Curly and Alpha, which was apparently quite funny because the pair began to laugh again.

“Not me,” Curly clarified, “Just Alpha.”

“Baleks aren't even from Peronia though,” Louis argued, “They're from all the way across the sea, in Vale. Bit of a journey to Doncaster, isn't it?” he said smartly, bristling with indignity.

Alpha raised an eyebrow. “Two seconds ago we didn't exist, now we're from Vale and Vale only?” he asked rhetorically. 

Louis didn't have an answer to that so he firmly shut his mouth, feeling more than a little humiliated. Never before in his life had he felt “sheltered” because of his quiet upbringing in Doncaster but suddenly the enormity of what he was doing was upon him. He had no idea where they were heading, but it was somewhere he had never been before and while he wasn't well educated by any means, he knew that Peronia was a vast kingdom with mountains and plains and marshes and forests, and all of those places were inhabited by the various races – some human, some not. Some of which were real and some of which he had believed to be fictional until a few moments ago. Louis wondered not just about the things he knew of but suddenly his mind was racing with the prospect of all the things he _didn't_ know of.

Just then a crow landed on one of the rocks dotting the dried out grassland ahead of them. Its movements were twitchy and sharp, typical bird happenings as far as Louis could tell. Then another landed, and another, until it seemed that the clearing had become a gathering place for crows. They occupied the bushes and stones and small lone trees – a smattering of black smudges on the peach tinted landscape. Louis squinted against the setting sun. He counted at least fifteen of them. Both Curly and Alpha were taut as drawn bowstrings beside him. They wore matching expressions of unease – eyebrows furrowed and mouths set in hard grim lines.

“Baleks?” Louis whispered, and felt a shiver of fear race down his spine at the thought that he may be heard. His eyes didn't leave the strange picture before him but he could see Curly nodding through his peripheral vision. “So what do we do?” he asked.

“We wait,” Alpha replied in a barely audible breath and slowly lowered himself into a more comfortable sitting position.

Louis swallowed and followed suit, still eyeing the murder of crows. His stomach was twisted and knotted with a terrible mix of dread and anticipation, much like what he had felt as a child when Stan and him had first started knicking people's purses.

It was going to be a long night. 

\- - -

The boys had waited the entire night and most of the morning for the last of the crows to leave. It had been a miserable night – the air had been biting with the beginnings of autumn chill and they hadn't been in any position to light a fire for warmth. Louis had been lucky to have his wool cloak on. At least he had been able to wrap up tight in that.

After the last crow finally fluttered away, lighting into the sky and gliding away on the morning breeze, Louis looked at Curly and Alpha for guidance. They were rising and stretching out their long limbs, appearing a lot less grumpy than he felt.

“So whoever's after us has a small army of Baleks then,” Louis observed with a snarky chipperness painting his gruff morning voice. He forced a tight smile and rose to his feet as well, fighting back a groan as his legs stung with the pins and needles feeling that comes from sitting in one position too long.

“Alpha's basically a one man small army of Baleks on his own, so I wouldn't worry much,” Curly replied quickly with a sly smile at his friend. 

Alpha rolled his eyes. “You flatter me, Curly,” he answered, his tone dry as an aged merlot.

Louis had been hoping that they would take his question as an opportunity to fill him in on the further details about their little adventure. 

“Will we get where we're headed by nightfall?” Louis interrupted, hoping to at least get them to reveal to him _where_ they were going. He was being about as subtle as a fancy girl looking for work but he wasn't sure these two were very receptive to subtlety.

“If we stop talking and actually get moving, it's a possibility.” Alpha swung his pack over his shoulder and shifted his weapons belt, fingering the hilts of his scimitars to assure they were properly placed at his hips. It looked as if he wouldn't be answering unless Louis came straight out with it. He headed for the grassland ahead of them with Louis close at his heels. Behind them, Curly followed at a much more casual pace.

“So where are we headed?” Louis demanded, staring down Alpha's back. He wasn't sure if he was trying to intimidate the boy into answering with his intense gaze but he doubted it would work.

“You'll find out when we get there,” Alpha replied, effectively ending the conversation.

When they got there happened to be well after nightfall, much to Louis' irritation. They reached the township of Cheshire late into the night, exhausted and starved. They had stopped for dinner but their rations were meagre and Louis' grumbling stomach had had to settle for nothing more than a dried out biscuit and a piece of cheese. He'd appealed to both Curly and Alpha to stop for the night but neither gave in.

“We're almost there,” Curly had told him rather shortly, his saintly patience drawing thin with Louis' incessant griping.

“Merciful Goddess, _finally_!” Louis had groaned with a thankful look heavenward when they finally reached the wall surrounding Cheshire. 

As they approached, Curly grabbed Louis' arm under the elbow and drew him back, leaving Alpha alone in the lead. He spoke to Louis in a hush.

“We're friends of the Lord here but seldom use our given names. You'll need another name as well,” he told Louis, his breath hot against Louis' ear, sending a rush of warmth to the pit of his stomach. Louis swallowed, ignoring the way Curly's fingertips were pressed firmly into the flesh of his arm – hot and tingling.

He wasn't sure where this sudden reaction was coming from but he didn't like it, Louis decided as his heart hammered in his chest. Jerking his arm free of Curly's grip, he stumbled sideways a bit, placing some distance between them and shaking his head, letting the cold air slap against his heated cheeks.

Better.

He didn't bother to acknowledge the confused look Curly gave him.

“Dodger,” Louis said into the silence. “I'll go by Dodger.” It had been his nickname with Stan back in Doncaster. They had been Striker and Dodger. While Stan had been striking around drawing all the attention, Louis had been dodging about knicking people's purses.

Curly levelled him with an interested look, his eyes darting over the planes of Louis' face as if wanting to delve further into the nickname. Instead he offered a quick smile and a nod of his head.

“Dodger it is then.”

Alpha, Curly, and Dodger entered the city with little trouble. Curly had been telling the truth; they were cozy with the Lord. They hadn't had to explain themselves or even introduce Louis. The trio had simply waltzed right through the front gate with little more than a customary greeting despite the late hour.

Their first stop was The Sleepy Saddle. A brightly lit tavern on the main road that smelled of fresh stew and stale ale. They walked in and Curly drew Louis to a table in the back corner while Alpha arranged their room and meal. He arrived at the table with three pints balanced in his grip and set them down, grabbing a seat on Curly's other side. Their chairs were set so that the three of them were able to keep their eyes on the door, although Louis didn't watch it very closely.

He was too distracted by the Sleepy Saddle's patrons. There was an assortment of folk filling the inn. A handful of sell swords were seated along the bar, identifiable by their prominently displayed weapons (broadswords, battle axes, maces, etc) and clothing that aligned them with no lord or kingdom. They were flanked by a couple of boys that couldn't be over twenty that were drowning in their mugs, eyes glittering at the mercenaries' tales. 

A triplet of fancy girls were sitting by the door, dressed in bright colours and plunging necklines, entertaining the attention of some well to do men that looked like merchants to Louis' eye. The fancy girls' bosoms spilled out of their dresses, plump and jiggling as they rocked about with laughter at whatever it was the merchants were saying.

A few old men with bald crowns ringed with sparse stringy hairs in dingy grays nursed their ales quietly in the opposite corner. Their faces were chiseled with age and their frowns seemed as if they'd been spelled onto their faces, unmoving and bitter as they quietly spoke amongst themselves, occasionally eyeing up the fancy girls' assets.

It was all quite distracting to Louis, who had never been to any tavern but the one in Doncaster, where he knew the regulars and didn't give a horse's behind about the visitors. He was used to being the most fascinating person in the room – even if there wasn't anything all that fascinating about him.

“So we won't be showing up on your noble friends' door then?” Louis asked as he reached for his pint, taking a deep chug. 

“Not tonight,” Curly said, wrapping his hands around his own ale mindlessly. He too was taking stock of the tavern's clientele with alert eyes. Louis watched as Curly's attention glossed over the fancy girls, barely taking note of them, and he felt a wash of relief for reasons unknown.

“We'll head there in the morning,” Alpha said as he finished a long gulp of his ale. He wiped the foam from his upper lip with the back of his hand and gestured toward a stairwell by the bar. “I got us a room and three cots here. It hasn't got much on Lord Payne's accommodations but it's better than setting up a camp in the middle of the flatlands.”

As he finished speaking a young boy approached the table, a tray containing three steaming bowls of stew in hand. He smiled at Curly and Louis felt a sudden surge of disgust. 

“Curly, good to see you and Alpha back so soon. Not taking up with Lord Payne tonight?” he asked as he distributed the bowls between the boys. His eyes lingered on Louis with unconcealed interest. He got nothing but a bland stare in return.

“No,” Curly replied, smiling politely, “He doesn't take too well to being woken in the middle of the night unfortunately. And I'm not sure the Helda would be too pleased feeding us at this hour either.” Alpha snorted down a laugh at that and the serving boy grinned.

“Helda's a fright at any time of day,” he countered, eyes glittering.

“But she's a death wish in the wee hours,” Alpha assured them with a crooked half smile before diving into his stew.

Louis watched as the three of them chuckled amongst themselves, feeling decidedly left out and a bit bored. Pulling his bowl closer, he tuned out the conversation (more cracks about Helda and what a joy she apparently was) and once again cast his gaze over the room, mindlessly eating the flat (but warm) stew. With careful eyes, he took note of who's pockets he would be able to successfully pick and who's he wouldn't. He hadn't much intent behind his wandering gaze, but it was an easy way to pass the time and keep himself occupied. 

The fancy girls would be a no go. They were notorious for keeping their purses tucked away in their bosoms where wandering hands couldn't go unnoticed. The two youth with the mercenaries would be easy enough. He could _see_ both their change purses plain as day bulging in the pockets of their trousers. And the mercenaries... all but one were clever enough to have their purses out of sight, probably tucked like Louis' in under the belt of their trousers at the front. The one, however, had his dangling from his weapons belt. That was either because he was stupid or because he was hoping someone would be stupid enough to try and rob him. Louis was no king of thieves and wouldn't dare lay a hand on the man's coin under any circumstance, but he didn't doubt that if someone slippery enough came by they would get away with it easily enough. 

“...Dodger.” Curly speaking Louis' nickname drew his attention back to the conversation at hand. Louis turned his gaze upon his companions with a mouthful of stew, making it clear from his expression that he hadn't been paying a lick of attention to what they had been saying. He chased down his food with a swig of ale.

“Sorry, wasn't listening to a word of what you were saying,” he told them, not sounding sorry at all. It wasn't as if any of what they had been talking about had been relevant to him.

“Boy, get over here!” a large man behind the bar called out, waving a hand, and the server boy turned to acknowledge him with a nod. 

“I'll hopefully see you lads around,” the server boy said politely before picking up his tray and heading back to his boss.

The trio watched him leave and then Alpha cut the silence.

“You know, I'm still surprised he doesn't remember you,” he said to Curly.

Curly glanced at Louis, catching his confused expression. “I was born here,” he supplied, “But I left rather young. Came back a few years ago with Alpha and it seems no one's realized that Curly's the same boy they rustled up in the side streets forever ago.”

Louis cocked an eyebrow at Curly's particular choice in wording but refrained from requesting clarification. 

“I suppose they didn't know you by Curly then?” he asked instead, hoping to suss out at least one of his companions' real identity.

“They didn't,” Curly agreed, a peekaboo smile on his lips. He eyed Louis thoughtfully and ate a spoonful of his stew. “I'll tell you when I know I can trust you,” he said after he had swallowed his food, still wearing that damnable near smile.

Louis' jaw clenched with frustration and he pushed back his chair, suddenly done with the charades these two were so content to play with him. It had only been two days and already he was exhausted with trying to find out what was going on and coming up against a brick wall each time. He wanted to hiss some choice words at Curly but refrained.

“If you could tell me where the room is, Alpha?” he requested stiffly, not even bothering to look at Curly. If he didn't need Alpha to get to their room, he would have ignored him as well. As it was, Alpha seemed to understand his frustration. He handed Louis a brass key and murmured the room number to the him, assuring him that he and Curly would be up shortly.

Louis didn't bother with a reply and simply walked away, the key clenched tightly in his fist.

Once he was alone in the room and wrapped up in his cot, Louis finally allowed the last two days to catch up with him. He curled up on himself, head buried under his quilt as quiet sobs wracked his small frame. His sisters' screams and his mother's resistance reverberated within the confines of his skull – torture on a constant loop. He wanted so badly to find something to wrap around the ache in his heart. He wanted his mother to draw him into his arms, hushing his pain with soothing murmurs. 

He didn't have the faintest idea where he was going or what he was doing or who he was really with. There was some psychopath with _followers_ intent on killing Louis for reasons he wasn't privy to and two complete strangers insisting that they had his best interests at heart. He was days away from his burned down home with nothing left of the people he would never see again but a few gifts – nothing left of the people he would never be able to bury.

Part of him wanted to demand that they give his family a funeral at least, but for reasons Louis couldn't pinpoint, the idea of sending off the spirits of his family without also burying their bodies made him feel unnaturally uncomfortable. It sent the hairs of his arms on end and left him reeling from a strange sickening guilt.

By the time Alpha and Curly finally retired to the room, Louis' tears had dried and he had managed to allow his exhausted body to fall into a fitful slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And on that note, I am heading to bed. It is 6 am and I have no idea why I'm still up other than possible insanity! Please forgive any minor errors I may have missed. Hope you're enjoying the story thus far and also hope you have yourself a lovely day! :) xo


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